


Plain Cotton Warmth

by randi2204



Series: Across-Dressing [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 3K Round-up Challenge, M/M, Mild Kink, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:04:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: After getting soaked riding out, Ezra needs a change of clothes.





	Plain Cotton Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** The pretty cowboys belong to MGM, Mirisch, and Trilogy, not me. Woes.

“Jesus Christ, Ezra, get in here!” Chris ordered from the relative safety of his doorway.  “Don’t you have the sense God gave a dog?”

 

Ezra would have liked to shoot back a scathing reply, but the water dripping steadily from the brim of his hat blew back into his face and made him sneeze.  The rain was cold, as was the breeze circling around to gust down the back of his neck.  _I probably present quite a pathetic picture,_ he thought in disgust.

 

Warm light spilled around Chris where he stood in the doorway, and a yearning for it filled him, so sudden and complete that it left him weak.

 

Chris grabbed his jacket and hat and pulled them on, muttering under his breath.  “Get inside,” he said, worry coloring his tone.  He grabbed the reins and put a hand on Ezra’s knee, jostling him a little when he didn’t move.  “Get out of those wet clothes and get warmed up.  Move it, Ezra!” he snapped.

 

Ezra swung down, moving stiffly from the chill that had worked its way into him.

 

“Go on,” Chris said, his voice pitched to be heard over the rain, and tugged Ezra’s horse toward the barn.  “I’ll take care of your horse.”

 

He stumbled into the cabin, and the warmth inside made his skin tingle, made his coat steam.  Contrarily, it made him start to shiver – or perhaps shiver harder, he thought somewhat distantly.  He could feel himself shaking, but wasn’t quite able to stretch out his hands toward the stove to warm them.  Instead, he stood as close as he could bear, huddled into his dripping coat.

 

He was still standing there when Chris returned.  A gust of wind and rain accompanied Chris in; when he took off his coat, Ezra saw that his shirt was damp in patches.

 

“I told you to take off those wet clothes,” Chris scolded.  “You’ll warm up faster if you’re not all wet.”  He took hold of Ezra’s arm, worked it away from his body.  “Come on, help me out here.”

 

Slowly, with Chris’s help, Ezra wriggled out of his coat; the wool was heavy and clung to his arms.  Chris draped it over a chair, then started in on the buttons of Ezra’s vest.  “Always so many layers,” he muttered.

 

“Only what is proper,” Ezra managed.  Despite his coat having been drenched, he felt no warmer for having taken it off; indeed, it seemed that the stove was not putting out nearly enough heat.  Chris stripped him of his vest, too.  His shirt was so wet it was nearly transparent, and his fingers trembled so that he missed the end of his tie the first time he reached for it.

 

Chris was as efficient with the tiny pearl buttons of his shirt as he had been with the vest, and had it completely undone and pulled from the waist of his trousers while Ezra was still struggling with his cufflinks.  “Here,” Chris said, and took them out, letting them fall without care onto the table.  “Jesus, your skin’s like ice!”  He chafed Ezra’s hands briskly between his for a short moment, then strode over to the chest of drawers and wardrobe on the far side of the room, near the bed.  “Take that off and sit,” he ordered over his shoulder.

 

Ezra twitched his suspenders from his shoulders and peeled the shirt off, to let it hang over the back of the second chair.  He sank into the chair, shivering, just as Chris returned.  He hung something over the bar for the oven door then threw a towel over Ezra’s head and started rubbing.  Before Ezra could protest, he moved down to scrub it over his shoulders and arms.  “Warmin’ up any?”

 

“Y-yes,” Ezra replied, leaning into Chris’s hands.  It was warming, the way Chris worked the rough towel over his damp skin, and soothing; he closed his eyes.

 

He opened them again when Chris stopped drying his back and stepped away.  A moment later, something pleasantly warm descended over his shoulders.  “Put that on,” Chris said as he turned back to the stove.

 

It was one of Chris’s shirts – a black one that buttoned up the front, warm and smelling faintly like smoke and hot metal from where it had hung on the stove.  Ezra pulled it on and was in the midst of doing it up when Chris put a tin cup on the table.  The coffee in the cup steamed a little and Ezra wrapped his hands around it gratefully.

 

“Now,” Chris said, fishing out a hanger from his wardrobe, “why don’t you tell me why you thought headin’ out here in the middle of a storm sounded like a good idea?”

 

“It wasn’t raining when I started out,” Ezra said after a couple of sips of coffee (liberally laced with whiskey), and was pleased to note that his teeth were no longer chattering.

 

“Thought you could beat it out?”

 

Ezra scowled at Chris as he returned to the table.  “The sky was clear!”

 

“Didn’t you listen to Vin?” Chris asked, draping Ezra’s fine shirt over the hanger with less care than Ezra would have liked.  “He said there was a storm comin’ tonight.”  He slotted the hanger over a hook near the stove, then sat down in the other chair with his own cup of coffee.

 

Ezra took another sip of coffee to avoid answering, though he knew that was only a temporary solution.  He _had_ heard Vin say there would be a storm tonight, but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day; it had been difficult to lend credence to Vin’s statement.

 

He glanced up from his mug to tell Chris just that, only to find that he was nodding slowly, as if Ezra had spoken all his thoughts aloud.  _Perhaps I did_ , he thought, pushing up the cuffs of Chris’s shirt from where they fell over his hands.  _Between the warmth and the whiskey, I’m feeling quite… relaxed._

 

He brushed his fingers over the sleeve again, just to admire the feel of Chris’s shirt.  It wasn’t made out of silk, but it was soft from many washings, and typical of all of Chris’s clothes: plain but well-made.  Its only failing right now was that it wasn’t the shirt Chris had been wearing.

 

The thought gave Ezra pause.  _Why,_ he wondered, rubbing the black cloth between his thumb and finger, _would that make a difference?_ It did, but he couldn’t imagine why.

 

From across the table, Chris made a noise, barely audible over the drumming of the rain on the roof, and when Ezra looked up from his hands, Chris was staring at him quite avidly.  “I like seein’ you in that,” Chris said, voice quiet.

 

He opened his mouth to protest – he was made for silks and fine clothes, not – then closed it again, recalling quite suddenly a night a few weeks ago, when Chris had gracefully acquiesced to wear _his_ clothes; the fine ruffled shirt, brocaded vest, the same woolen tailcoat that now hung over the back of a chair.  Watching Chris wear those bright colors had stirred him despite how poorly they had fit him, had made it difficult to think beyond the desire thrumming through him.

 

Had he wished it for some other reason than to see Chris in colors he seldom wore?  Had it been because they were _his_ clothes?  And did Chris have the same want, seeing him in a plain black shirt… just because it belonged to Chris?

 

 _Is that the reason,_ he asked himself, _that I wanted to wear the shirt Chris was wearing?_

 

Chris stood from his chair, rousing Ezra from his thoughts, and plucked the mug he still held from his hands; it was empty, its warmth heating his belly.  “You look done in,” Chris said, still in that same quiet tone.  “Reckon you should get some sleep.”

 

Ezra blinked, trying to clear the haze that had settled over his mind, brought on by heat and the whiskey, and met Chris’s eyes.  Chris’s gaze was fixed on him, dark and intense, completely belying his words; he wanted… but would wait if that’s what Ezra preferred.

 

He stood as well, toying with the button at the collar of the shirt he wore and drawing Chris’s eyes there in an instant.  “Does this mean you’re… invitin’ me to stay the night?”

 

The light dawned; Chris grinned then glanced away, as if trying to hide it.  “Well, I don’t guess you can go anywhere until your clothes are dry,” he pointed out.  “Wet as they are, might take all night.”

 

“Indeed,” Ezra murmured.  “Perhaps, then, I might convince you to help me… warm up the bed?  I fear I’m still a bit chilled.”

 

Chris nodded, and the heat in his gaze made Ezra shiver in reaction.  “If you’re still cold… maybe you should leave that on.”

 

“Maybe I should,” Ezra agreed.

 

***

November 28, 2015

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the [mag7daybook](http://mag7daybook.dreamwidth.org/) prompt [any/any, OW, “does this mean you’re inviting me to stay the night?”](http://mag7daybook.dreamwidth.org/447986.html?thread=4251890#cmt4251890)


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